Smeagol is Free!
A hermitudinal view of...stuff...


Missing Starbucks

This is going to be one of those random posts. I'm going to write, and I won't know what comes out. Deal? Deal :)

Starbucks. I miss my Ward Starbucks. I say "my" because, quite frankly, it's still "my" Starbucks. It's the one I dream about, it's the one I picture myself walking into in the mornings and afternoons with the long line going all the way to the door, Matthew behind the bar, Dean and K.C. behind the registers, and a few people waving in greeting. Boss is sitting in his chair, earphones on, studying Japanese. If it's the morning, the sunlight is filtering through the blinds on the Diamond Head side of the store; if it's the afternoon, the Ewa side, which doesn't have blinds, so Boss will have his shades on. There was a simple, ritualistic rhythm to life in my Starbucks. I could count on seeing the same certain people doing the same certain things they did. Nori would be behind the bar, grinding beans for espresso, steaming the milk and causing the steam to waft sinuously. Matt provided endless hours of entertainment through his ever-hopeful love life. Dean provided much the same, but in a different manner. How so? Dean ran. And when Dean ran, we laughed. Have you ever noticed how some people do the most everyday things in an extremely strange, un-everyday sort of manner? That was Dean running. So when Dean ran, we laughed. There was the lady from New York whose name I never learned. We knew she was from New Yawk because of her accent. She was actually from Brooklyn, I think, but I'm not sure. I never did talked to her, but you know what? I'd love to sit her down and have a chat with her now. In fact, I'd give a lot for a simple talk with her. But if I were at home, at my Starbucks, I'd just sit and listen to her talk to someone else, sort of eavesdrop on her conversation. Why? Because that's what she did, and that's what I did. It worked that way, our little system did, in our little Starbucks.

Today is Leeman's birthday. I just talked to him a little while ago. He's doing well, editing Mark Dever's latest book in DC. It's amazing to me, how much of an influence he's had on my life. I was telling Jim a couple weeks ago that I've begun to associate a word with some individuals. For instance, when I think of Jim, the word "grace" pops into my head. Jim will always be quick to point to God's grace as the source behind any good in his life, and it's stuck with me. With Scott, I think "accountability". I can hear his voice telling me this summer, "you know what I miss? I miss hitting guys in the throat with accountability!" I love Scott O'Neal for that...he makes me hate sin and love Jesus with With Leeman, I think, "the Gospel." Jonathan was always very much in love with the gospel, and consistently striving toward being held under the weight of God's glory revealed through the gospel. I think he would be humbled to know that his labor in me has not been without fruit, and if I may say so, beautiful fruit. I find myself, in talking to the younger guys here on campus, constantly hearing his voice exhorting me to look to the cross of Christ in all I do, striving to not only interpret Scripture through the lens of the cross, but to cause others to do the same that we may live life by the power of the cross.

In thinking of Leeman, I also thought of my brother. He's several months older than Jonathan. Spiritually, though? He's anything but. I can remember several years ago, when I'd constantly weep at the thought of my father and brother. Now? My heart aches, but I don't *weep* the way I used to. I'm saddened by this. Yesterday in chapel, Dr. Hemphill related to us the story of one rather well known preacher who was slated to preach at a conference. This gentleman was the third of three in the lineup for the evening, which meant that he was hitting cleanup. Well, the first preacher did something he kinda sorta wasn't supposed to. He asked the audience if it had been a while since they had wept over the lost, and if it had been, he invited them to come up to the altar and confess that before the Lord. Dr. Hemphill, who was slated to preach second and was therefore sitting next to the gentleman waiting to preach last, was shocked out of his mind when this man got out of his chair to kneel down at the altar and bury his face in his hands to weep openly. So in thinking about my brother, I feel shame at the hardness of my heart that hides itself from the state of his soul. Do I have the strength to love him as I ought? No; but my strength comes not from me, so it doesn't really matter, does it? Thank God, no :)

posted by Bolo | 5:32 PM
0 speakage
Free Hit
Dell Coupons
Blogging Buddies
Old School
Bug Me